


To End All Darknesses

by arielmagicesi



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-30 02:12:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19032637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arielmagicesi/pseuds/arielmagicesi
Summary: Daenerys Targaryen is not dead. She is also not the person who burnt King's Landing. But someone was, and she intends to stop them.Fix-it fic that is technically canon-compliant but says that canon is dumb and wrong. I have only seen the show and I'm a casual fan, so any contradictions to book canon are accidental.





	To End All Darknesses

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a clueless lesbian who loves Brienne of Tarth and I had a cool idea for how to make the end of the Game of Thrones television show suck less. D&D, I'm doing your job for you. You're welcome.
> 
> I might read the books someday, but for right now, I'm just making shit up based on what I saw in the show. If you're like "there's no Lord of Darkness, because according to the encyclopedia of asoiafffnffkjklerjkltreljl" you must remember that this is just fake made-up stories that I got too attached to.
> 
> Also there's a decent chance I'll abandon this fic but I think this beginning is an intriguing idea so I'm posting it and give me attention aaaaahhh!

When Daenerys Targaryen woke up, she was warm. Lately she’d gotten used to waking up cold. The North was a strange place to be, after all that time in the desert.

She was in the dark, and her body was… lighter. Like she’d lost weight. Her eyes adjusted, and she could see that she was surrounded by branches and roots, like she was inside a great tree.

When she lifted her hands, they were not her hands.

Carefully, she stood up, bowing her head to avoid hitting a branch. “Hello?” she said, and then threw her hands to her mouth- that was not her voice.

She cleared her throat. “Hello?” she said again. “If anyone is here, come out to see me. I wish to see you.”

From around what appeared to be a tree trunk, a child appeared. No, not a child- some strange childlike creature, with the skin of a tree, like bark and leaves. She’d heard stories of these creatures, but never seen them before. The ancient Children of the Forest.

“Come with me, Daenerys Stormborn,” the child said. “She’s waiting to see you, too.”

“Who is waiting to see me? Tell me.”

“The Priestess of the North.”

Dany raised her head. Her hair was short now, cut before it reached her chin.

“Where am I?” she demanded.

“The god’s tree,” said the child. “You are in the far North. You’ve been asleep a long while. We’ve been watching you.”

“A long while? What does that mean?”

“Six months have passed since you were brought here.”

“What?” Daenerys said. “Six months? Where’s- Where’s Jon Snow? Where are my soldiers, my bannermen? Where are my dragons?”

“Come with me, please. The Priestess can explain it to you.”

Being that she was in a strange place, she followed the child. She’d know better what was going on if she followed.

The child led her through a system of tunnels until they arrived in the sunlight. Then it was cold: the tree had a warm heart, but the outside did not. It was still winter out there. Daenerys was glad for the furs she’d been draped in.

They crossed the landscape of snow. Dany kept an eye out the whole time for the dead. She didn’t know what had happened in the Battle of Winterfell. The last thing she remembered was…

Was Jorah’s body below her. She was weeping. Drogon was with her. And then suddenly, corpses had begun collapsing all around them. And before she’d discovered what had happened, her lungs filled with blackness and her eyes filled with darkness and then there had been the long nothingness of sleep. Some dreams, perhaps. And then the tree, and the body that was not hers.

She had no idea if the Night King was defeated, if the dead were still walking. If this child was telling the truth- if she’d truly been sleeping six months- then the dead must have been defeated, or the world would not exist like this. It would have been the world of the dead. Unless this was some sort of last sanctuary.

But no dead appeared as they crossed the snowy fells, and then ascended a hill of stairs to a stone tower.

“How far North are we?” Dany asked, in that voice that was not hers.

“Very,” was all the child said.

They emerged in a small room with a long table. At the end of it sat an old woman in a rocking chair. She was knitting.

“Sit down, m’dear,” she said. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“I’ll stand,” Daenerys said, “until you tell me who you are.”

The woman laughed. “They call me the priestess of the North, here, but you can call me Nan. That’s what they called me in Winterfell, Old Nan.”

“You’re from Winterfell?”

“I’m from the North. I lived in Winterfell for a time, yes. I knew your beloved Jon Snow. And now I live here. I’m sure they think I’m dead. Sit down.”

Daenerys didn’t like doing what people told her.

“Why do they call you priestess?” she said, walking along the edge of the table. She stopped by a chair, but did not sit. “What are you a priestess of?”

“The Lord of Light,” the woman said.

Daenerys frowned. “I’ve met the priestesses of the Lord of Light. I met one who killed innocents because she claimed her Lord required it. I’m not inclined to trust this Lord’s priestesses.”

The woman- Nan- fixed her with a beady-eyed look. “Do you know, down South, they believe that you killed innocents?”

“Slavers are not innocents.”

“Not slavers. They believe that you burned thousands, screaming children, women clinging to their babes, as King’s Landing crumbled to pieces around them, and up on your dragon you called for more fire. They call you the Mad Queen.”

“What are you talking about?” Daenerys said, her heart beating in her ears.

“Sit down,” Nan said. “It’s a long story.”

Dany sat down.

 

Small council meetings hadn’t been what Brienne had expected to be doing with her life, but she’d grown to like them. Ser Davos and Maester Samwell were good men, and Tyrion was clever, even if he was at the same time a bit stupid. He respected her, which was rare in men. Even Bronn respected her, a bit.

She found that she liked being able to express her opinions, when people listened. And King Bran listened. She supposed being called “Bran the Broken” made you more sympathetic to the likes of Brienne the “Beauty”.

In a city of ashes and corpses, in a world missing many of its heroes, she was lucky to have a place at the table of people who could do something about it.

They’d been discussing food distribution methods (much of King’s Landing’s grain stores had burned in the siege) when Podrick burst into the room.

“Ser Brienne,” he said, panting. “I- oh, I apologize, your Grace-”

“It’s no problem,” Bran said. He didn’t look at Podrick. “Tell her what you came to tell.”

Pod cleared his throat.

“It’s- I’m not sure how to say this,” he said. “They’ve found somebody. Wandering. In the Red Keep.”

“We’re in the Red Keep, Pod, in the small council chambers,” Tyrion said. “Use specifics. Where exactly?”

“In… in the throne room.”

The throne room hadn’t been used, not even for Bran’s coronation. Cleaning it up had been low on the list of priorities, and no one wanted to go inside.

“Why does this matter?” Brienne asked. “Who was it?”

Pod stared at his feet.

“It was… well… it seems impossible…”

“Spit it out.”

“It was Ser Jaime.”

“No,” Brienne said instantly. She shook her head. “That’s not funny, Pod-”

“It was, I recognize him, I wouldn’t forget him. Ser Loren found him, he knows him. He’s got the gold hand and everything-”

“He’s dead,” Brienne said. “I’m not entertaining some idiot who put on a gold hand and is trying to impersonate a dead man.”

“My lady,” Pod said. “It’s him. I wouldn’t lie.”

Brienne said nothing. She knew Pod and she knew he wasn’t lying.

She was just tired.

She’d been grieving long enough for a man who never loved her. She didn’t need to bring that grief all up again.

“Bring this man up here, to us,” Tyrion said. “Let’s see who he is.”

“Oh, God,” Brienne said, and looked up at Tyrion. “Do you really want to waste our time?”

“You know Pod, you know he wouldn’t waste our time,” Tyrion said. “The Red Woman brought Jon Snow back to life; who’s to say something similar didn’t happen with Jaime?”

“Because-” Brienne began, and then fell silent.

She didn’t want to even try hoping. She didn’t like the feeling of hope, anymore.

“Fine,” she said. “Bring him up.”

Podrick nodded and ran out of the room, his armor clanging as he went down the stairs.

The room was silent.

“Bran,” Tyrion began. “If you remember, when I was suggesting that you be made King, I listed amongst the reasons for it the fact that you are, in a sense, all-knowing. I’d appreciate it if you gave us a bit of warning when things like this happen.”

“If _you_ remember,” Bran replied, “I told you that I’m not a crystal ball. I made the mistake once of sharing information I learned from my sight. I have information, but I can’t control what happens when I tell it. And I am not all-knowing. I am all-seeing, which means I have the ability to see all that happens and all that has happened, but _not_ the ability to know which parts are important.”

“You’re saying you didn’t see Jaime come back to life.”

“I’m saying I’ve been paying attention to this small council meeting-”

“That’s a first,” Bronn muttered.

“-and not to what may have been happening down in the throne room.”

The door opened again, and Brienne’s head sprang up to face it, and then time seemed to pause.

Podrick and two other knights were escorting Jaime Lannister into the room. It was him without a doubt- his eyes, his hair, his particular face, his exact body. His clothes were torn and dusted with crumbled stone, but he was alive and breathing.

She pushed back her chair, walked right up to him, and punched him in the face.

“What are you doing?” someone shouted, and Podrick ran to separate them. Jaime took a few steps backward.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Brienne shouted. “If you’re alive, where the hell have you been? Wasting time in the throne room? We buried you! Was that a lie?”

“Brienne, sit down!” Tyrion shouted.

“I will not sit down! The last time I saw this man alive, he was heading to King’s Landing to save Queen Cersei!”

“I betrayed you,” Jaime said, and it was unnervingly, horribly, his voice.

Brienne turned around to face him. His head was lifted to face her, and a bruise was forming on his cheek.

“Yes,” she said. “You betrayed me. Now you’re alive. Explain how.”

“I can’t,” he said.

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

“I don’t know how,” he said. “One moment I was dying in the tunnels below the castle, and the next I was awake in the crypt next to Cersei.”

Brienne’s fist clenched at the sound of her name.

“I’ve seen stranger things,” Ser Davos said.

Maester Samwell got up and headed over to Jaime. “May I check your pulse?” he asked.

“Certainly,” Jaime said.

The maester checked. “He seems to be alive, by any metric I know,” Sam said. “I think the same thing that happened to Jon must’ve happened to him. Some sort of miracle. Maybe the- the Lord of Light, or whoever, wants him alive, too.”

“Why?” Brienne asked, crossing her arms.

“It’s not for us to know,” Sam said. “That’s what the Red Woman always said.”

“Listen,” Jaime said, and all eyes turned to him. “I betrayed you all by going to Cersei. I know that. But I’m here now. I don’t know why, but I’m here now. I want to help. Rebuild things from the ashes.”

“That’s what we’ve been doing,” Brienne said, her teeth gritted.

“Yes, I know. I’m saying I want to help.”

Tyrion let out a long sigh.

“I’m not sure it would be wise,” he said, “for the small council to accept help from an undead traitor.”

Jaime shrugged. “I understand that, but I offer my help anyway. King Bran, will you take it?”

Bran looked directly at Jaime. Something passed between their eyes- something Brienne didn’t recognize.

“You’re right, Tyrion,” he said. “This is an undead traitor. I won’t let you on the small council, Ser Jaime, but I’ll let you stay in the Red Keep. You can walk freely through it, but you may not leave the Red Keep until we have the time to hold a trial for you.”

Jaime’s eyes narrowed in a way Brienne had never seen.

“A fair proposition, considering what I’ve done,” he said. “I thank you, your Grace.”

 

“I was born a thousand years ago, amongst the wildling tribes,” Old Nan said. “We, too, had to fight the army of the dead, and it was during our great battle, in the Long Night, that I became a priestess of the Lord of Light. Not like those priestesses you’ve met in the South. I don’t bother with that saying, _the night is dark and full of terrors_. I’ve seen those terrors firsthand. I don’t need to say it.

“I gave myself in service to the children of the Forest and the Three-Eyed Raven. We helped fight off the darkness, and I grew old, but strong. I learned the great story of the Lord of Light and the Night King. It goes like this:

“ _Long ago, the god of light and the god of darkness fought each other, taking different forms as they needed to, stealing those of trees and those of men. The Children of the Forest had to live their lives between the battle, until finally, the Lord of Darkness took away the Lord of Light’s ability to steal forms. The Lord of Light was lost, his soul unable to take form, flitting around the world, finding those who could understand him and speaking to them._

_“But the Lord of Darkness remained in the far North, terrorizing the Children and the First Men. And then he took the form of a young man, which was his mistake. The Children of the Forest captured him, and with a blade of dragonglass, they tried to kill him. It took away his life, but it gave him something else: a body with the power to raise the dead._

“When I heard this story, I was afraid, because I had seen those dead, and I could not imagine how to destroy the Night King. But the Three-Eyed Raven told me that the power to destroy the Night King lay in the south, with the Starks. So I headed south and offered my services as a wet nurse in Winterfell. I married and had children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. And I kept going until Theon Greyjoy took Winterfell. I’d done my part. I’d raised Brandon Stark, and my great-grandson, Wylis, was accompanying him north. So I, too, escaped the Greyjoys and headed north.

“I watched from my tower, seeing things in the light that glints off ice- because I am not like the priestesses of the south, I do not need fire to light-scry. I watched Brandon Stark come north and become the Three-Eyed Raven. And then I watched Arya Stark kill the Night King.”

“Arya Stark?” Daenerys finally interrupted. “She’s the one who saved us?”

“No, child. Arya Stark killed the Night King, but she did not save us. She saved us from the army of the dead, yes, but not from the Lord of Darkness. This was the form he took the longest, but it was not his last form.”

“Where did he go?” Daenerys asked. “Who else knows about this?”

“No one knows about this,” Old Nan said. “No one but me. And I am too old now to go south again. I will die up here. But you can go south. You can save the world from him.”

“How?” Daenerys said. “I don’t know where my dragons are, where my army is. They must think I’m dead.”

Old Nan shook her head.

“Look here,” she said, and pulled a small hand mirror from her pocket. She slid it across the table to Dany, who lifted it and then gasped.

She’d known her body was lighter, her hair was shorter, and her voice was changed, but it was still shocking to look in the mirror and see someone else entirely. Her hair was reddish, her skin pale, and she was thin, with angular features. She did not recognize her face.

“Who is that?” she asked, her voice shaky.

“No one,” Nan said.

“What do you mean, no one? This is someone’s face, and it’s not mine.”

“It was a girl’s,” Nan said. “She had no name. She called herself no one. She was killed by Arya Stark, who took her face.”

“All right,” Dany said. “Why do I, now, have that face?”

Nan sat back in her rocking chair. “What’s the last thing you remember happening?”

Dany put down the mirror.

“I was looking at Ser Jorah’s body,” she said, “and weeping, when the dead began to fall all around me. Then everything went black.”

“How do you think the dead began to fall? What was it that Jon told you would kill them?”

“The Night King,” Dany said. “That was when Arya killed the Night King.”

Old Nan nodded.

“But you said that he was not dead. That he could take new forms. Which form did he take? Where is he?”

Old Nan just looked at her.

“No,” Daenerys said. “He didn’t.”

“He did,” Nan said. “He took your body. That night is the last thing you remember because it is the last time you inhabited that body. The Night King took it, and all your memories and knowledge, on that night. And he wrought destruction on Westeros with it.”

“No,” Dany said. “No, no, no, no.”

“Yes.”

“How am I alive?” Dany asked, refusing to believe this horror. “How do I have my memories?”

“You are alive because of the Lord of Light,” Old Nan said. “On that night, a priestess of the Lord of Light entered Winterfell and stole one of Arya Stark’s faces- the one you wear now. She took it with her into the wilderness and died with it in her hands. One of the Children of the Forest brought it up here, to the god’s tree, and I made you a body from it.”

“That makes no sense,” Daenerys said. “How did you make a body from a face? How is it that my soul came to live in it? How, for that matter, did my soul survive this invasion by the Night King?”

“That was a face of the Faceless Men,” Nan said, “and I am the priestess of the North. Stranger things have happened for lesser men. And as for the matter of your soul surviving- that is no meagre thing. The Lord of Darkness should have put your soul right out, if you were an ordinary person. But you are not an ordinary person, Daenerys Stormborn. The Lord of Darkness is strong, but the light is stronger. You are _azor ahai_ , the Prince that was Promised. You brought dragons out of stone. Your destiny is to free the world from darkness. Mere gods cannot put out your flame.”

Daenerys had heard talk like this before. It was flattering, but she was not inclined to believe anything just because it was flattering.

“If I survived the Lord of Darkness,” she said, “and it is because I have a destiny, then let me take that destiny. And when you say I’ll free the world from darkness, I do not mean to free it only from this mere god. I mean to free it from men who would enslave one another. From men who would hurt women for their own pleasure. From women who would hurt innocents for the sake of power. I am not here to be your promised prince, Old Nan. If I am here against all odds, let it be to end all the darknesses that plague this world.”

Nan smiled. She kept knitting.

“You’ll have to fight a lot of terrible things to even get back south, and to get them to believe it’s you,” she said. “They won’t like you.”

Dany scoffed. “Is that god still walking around in my body?”

“No,” Nan said. “I saw this in the light. He burned King’s Landing, and when he was done, Jon Snow killed him. Your body is dead.”

Daenerys clutched the edge of the table. She hadn’t thought her body to be so dear to her, not after all the things people had done and tried to do to it, but now that she no longer had it, she missed it.

And she missed Jon. She didn’t like the thought of him having to kill her body. It must have been horrible for him.

“Where is the Lord of Darkness, then?” Dany asked.

“He must have taken another form,” Nan said. “Another body. I have yet to see it. Someone important, I imagine. Someone who could do damage.”

 

King Bran was still in the small council chambers when Brienne returned.

“Ser Brienne,” he said, though he was facing the other direction. “I thought you’d come back to speak to me.”

“I- yes,” she said. “I’m concerned about Ser Jaime.”

“So am I,” he said. “You knew him quite well.”

Brienne let out a huff through her nose. “Yes, we spent a lot of time together.”

“Tyrion knew him better, perhaps,” Bran said. “But brothers can be stupid about each other. I would know. Even as the Three-Eyed Raven, I still hold the love that I once had for Jon, and for my sisters.”

He turned to face Brienne.

“That is why I can’t trust Tyrion with this, but I can trust you. You will always do the right thing.”

“Do the right thing?” Brienne said. “About what?” It was irritating, how mysterious all his words had to be.

“That isn’t Jaime Lannister,” Bran said. “I don’t know who it is. My sight can’t figure it out. I don’t know why. I’ve been trying, and I will keep trying. But whoever is in that body is not Jaime Lannister.”

Brienne stared down at her hands. God, she was an idiot. She’d hoped against hope that she was wrong. That Bran would tell her that Jaime was alive after all, that she could relax, that everything was going to be OK.

“I know,” she said.

“I want you to keep an eye on him. To see what he does, and to stop him hurting anyone.”

Brienne nodded.

“And don’t tell anyone what we know.”

“I won’t, your Grace.”

She left the room. She walked down the stairs and checked that the corridor was abandoned.

And then she wept.

 


End file.
